Split
by ladybadasskillington
Summary: Jak 2 AU. Torn has been exiled to the Wasteland, and the Underground is left scrambling to continue the war without him. Meanwhile, Torn makes it to Spargus, where Damas makes him question his loyalties, among other things.
1. Prologue

Hello, ! It's been awhile, but here I am again, writing a fic no one asked for. A couple of points before we begin:

This AU takes place in the middle of Jak 2. It's going to be a little longer than the other stuff I've posted on here, so get ready for lots of words, and lots of waiting for me to get myself together enough to get updates done.

Important points about the timeline:

-Jak and Daxter have met the Shadow and know that they are in the future by this point, and they know about the kid being the heir and about the Precursor Stone, but they have not gone to the Tomb of Mar yet. They have also not found older Samos.

-Ashelin does not know her father is working with the metalheads and giving them Dark Eco. She does, however, know he's looking for the Precursor stone.

-Ashelin does not know that Damas is alive, and, by extension, does not know about Spargus.

Here goes the Prologue! Let me know what you think.

* * *

Sand. Grinding against his cheek, against his teeth. Part of him wished he could just choke to death on it.

The KG who'd thrown him out of the transport pulled him up by the back of his shirt. Eventually he manuevered Torn, who had gone limp out of spite, into a kneeling position. The former commander looked up at the soldier's helmet, wondering if he'd known this man, trained this man, _been_ this man, in another life.

"Well, _Commander_ , you know the drill," the KG said, managing to sound mocking despite his helmet's vocal modifier. "You're out here for life. Not that that will be much longer." Torn felt the manacles unlock; they had rubbed his wrists raw and the sand stung the tender skin as they were pulled off.

He had no weapon, no armor, and no chance against the five soldiers staffing the transport. And he knew how much satisfaction it would give Praxis and Erol both to read a report stating that the soldiers had killed him like a dog, that it was unavoidable because he'd resisted.

So he knelt in the sand silently, eyes downturned, as he listened to the transport close up and depart. Eventually, he pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing everywhere in his body. They'd beaten him enough to slow him down, but not to disable him entirely. Cruel. It would be a slow death.

He wondered, as he began to walk aimlessly, if the others knew that he'd been caught. Exiled. If they would come for him. Logically, he knew they shouldn't-hoped they'd have enough sense not to. The protocol for a banishment was to drop someone in a random location in the Wasteland, so any friends or allies would have no idea where to begin looking.

Tess could run the Underground for him, he was sure. She'd worked for him since she was a thirteen-year-old orphaned refugee from Dead Town, bruises and blood and bone and an utter, devastating rage that outshone any star in their smoggy skies. Tess had had the smarts to find the Underground, to find him, to argue her way in even though she was just a kid. Back then, they'd both been. He a 20-year-old former prodigy, a darling of Praxis, who was desperate to prove that he was not that man; she a starving, stricken barely-teenager.

It had been seven years. He trusted her; everyone trusted her. And she had spent enough hours at his elbow that she could do his job in her sleep.

But he couldn't deny that, deep down, he wanted to be saved. He wanted Jak, bright and colorful against this dead landscape, to leave the city walls and find him against all odds. To yell at him, berate him, kiss him with blood and gunmetal on his tongue.

He'd been a harbor for others for so many years. He needed somebody else to do that for him. Hold him to somewhere, or something.

As he walked, he felt numbness descend over him. Even his morbid thoughts died out, and his mind was silent in a way it had never been in his life. He kept moving somehow, despite the painfully hot sun and the drag of the sand against his boots. Skin blistering, he moved. Until he didn't. Long hours passed where he was only aware of the blistering sun on the back of his neck and the sand against his face, consciousness coming in and out.

And then-something. Movement. Cars. People. Someone pushed a boot into his side, and distantly he heard, _"He's still alive!"_

At some point he ended up in one of the cars, sprawled across the back seat. He could see the sky, painfully bright and blue, but his eyes wouldn't close.

 _"Did you see those tattoos? He's high-ranking. We better bring him to Damas in person-"_

The buggy jolted as they jumped a dune, and Torn knocked his head against the seat. Cool, soothing darkness.

"You're awake."

* * *

Someone with a strangely-painted face watched him impassively from his bedside. A Precursor monk, he thought-hadn't seen them in the city since Damas was driven out. The Mar line had been said to have a strong Precursor connection, and the monks had supported Damas' rule. There had been some in the palace, he was sure. And then Praxis had purged them with other loyalists. Burned the temples.

Household altars had been hidden away in closets or destroyed completely, leaving the faithful only their own memories of prayers and holy days. The color orange had drained out of the city completely.

So he wasn't back in Haven. Not with a monk who so blatantly served the Precursors.

He made to ask where he was, but choked on the dryness of his own throat.

The monk moved to hand him a cup of water. Wooden, rough-hewn, but pleasantly heavy and solid in his hands. He tried to drink slowly, moving into a sitting position as he did so.

"Where am I?"

"Spargus. The Wastelander city."

"That's impossible. No one lives outside Haven's walls."

"And yet here you are."

Torn considered, turning the cup in his fingers. It had been made by a carpenter, and he'd never seen craftsmanship like it in Haven, where everything was metal and glass and plastic. Strange that such a simple object would be sufficiently alien to convince him that the monk was telling the truth.

"So I was rescued?"

"By chance, yes. You were lucky enough to be dropped far enough in the desert, and to cover enough ground in Spargus' direction, that some Wastelanders searching for artifacts happened upon you. Whether you will survive long enough to benefit from it is up to you. And to King Damas."

His head snapped up. "King Damas?"

The monk inclined their head.

"He's alive?"

"Indeed. You will meet him presently-your tattoos make you a...person of interest."

This changed everything. Before, he'd simply been trying to get his bearings. But this-not only was the true king alive, he had built a city in the Wastelands. No one was even supposed to be able to survive here. And what kind of a city was this? What resources did it have, what armies might it possess? Why hadn't Damas waged war on Haven to regain his throne?

And what did the king want from Torn? What did he think had brought him here?

 _He thinks I'm a spy, most likely_ , Torn thought, a sinking feeling in his stomach. _How am I going to convince him otherwise?_

As his mind worked, the monk rose, and left the room unnoticed. But eventually, she came back with a plate of food-some kind of grilled meat and something soft and green. Torn recognized it as cacti. Sig had brought some with him sometimes from his trips to the Wasteland, sharing the fruit with some of the Underground soldiers.

Sig.

Precursors, _Sig._

He _knew_. He must have known-about Spargus, about Damas. _This is where he goes when he's outside the city walls._

Then what had he been doing in Haven?

"Are you alright?"

Torn realized he had frozen with the plate of food in his hands. He looked up at the monk, who was watching him, eyebrows raised.

"Fine. Just...thinking." He forced himself to eat the food, which wasn't half bad, especially compared to the rations he'd been living off of in Underground HQ.

As he chewed, he tried to slow his mind down.

 _Think. Deconstruct the problem. That's what you're good at._

The upside of Sig being here, in the city, was that he would be able to verify most of what Torn would tell Damas, though he guessed that Sig would not be able to say with absolute certainty whether Torn had or had not known about Spargus and whether he had been sent as a spy of some kind, or an envoy begging for help for the war effort.

But Sig was enough of a soldier to know that Torn, the Underground's second-in-command, would probably not have been sent on such a dangerous and uncertain errand himself-the Underground would have sent someone more expendable. All in all, Sig might be the difference between life or death.

But even if he convinced Damas of his identity, that he had truly been exiled-what was he supposed to do _then_?

Torn's loyalty was still with the Underground. Praxis had to be overthrown, and the war with the Metalheads had to end. Haven was still his city; those were still his people. But could he safely return? He had a bigger target on his back now than ever before. Praxis' pride and need to show authority would force him to track Torn down again if anyone even breathed word that he was in the city. It was entirely possible that his return could make things even more difficult for the Underground than they were already.

Could he work from here? He didn't have enough information to know. He doubted he could still continue as the second-in-command, though. He could provide help, but not necessarily leadership.

And deep down, Torn knew that there was another issue: he didn't know who he was without the cause. It was selfish, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop the cold pit of fear in his stomach. If he couldn't return, couldn't fight the fight with his people anymore, then who was he? What was he supposed to do?

"I can return the plate to the kitchens," the monk said, and he was snapped out of his thoughts again. Wordlessly, he held out the plate.

"I will bring back more water and tea, and then leave you to rest," she said. "You are not yet recovered enough to meet the king. I suggest," said the monk, leveling a meaningful stare at him, "that you use the time to come up with a good reason for your presence here."

With that, the strange monk left the room.

Torn settled back into the bed and closed his eyes. He was going to tell Damas the truth, and let the king decide what to do with him.

 _It'll be good to let someone else decide for once_ , he thought as he heard the monk setting a teapot and cup next to the bed.


	2. Chapter 1

_Haven_

"One of the leaders of the Underground has been discovered and banished from the city," Praxis intoned over the loudspeakers.

Tess dropped the glass she was cleaning, but didn't register the shatter. Her eyes unfocused.

 _He's lying, he's lying, not Torn, Torn wouldn't let them take him, he wouldn't let them take the Shadow-_

The whole bar held its breath, listening to the news. Men who had been drunkenly insulting each other a moment ago, off-duty KGs playing poker, Krew's mercs having a meeting in a dark booth-all were still and silent.

"Torn, the disgraced former KG commander, has been cast out into the Wastelands. No longer will that treasonous criminal poison our city," Praxis said. "Soon the rebels will be eradicated, along with the Metalheads, and Haven will be safe again. This is another victory for peace."

Tess knelt, ostensibly to pick up the shards of broken glass, and pressed her forehead against the back of the bar.

 _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't blow your cover now. He needs you to be strong._

She picked up the glass slowly, threw it out, then popped back up behind the bar, trying to look like she was surprised, not devastated.

"Ey, Tess, could we get another round?" one of Krew's boys asked, breaking the silence. "That Beach Bomb brew, bottled, not draft."

"Of course." She rounded up six of the beers and put them on a tray, gamely gliding out to the booth.

"Bad news for us," another man said. "The Underground are some of our best clients."

 _Drax. Forger. Started out as a pickpocket in Dead Town._

"It ain't like he wiped out the whole outfit, Drax," another of the mercs said, snatching a bottle off of the tray and taking a long swig of his beer.

 _Finch. Muscle. Former boxer._

"Without him, they're doomed," said a third.

 _Oren. Procurement specialist. Can get you anything you need, legal or illegal._

Tess forced herself to walk away, unable to hover any longer without being suspicious. But she catalogued the conversation in her mind, and kept her ears open as she finished her shift.

She was wiping down the bar after a pair of chatty patrons had spilled their drinks when she heard the unmistakeable noise of Krew approaching. His wheezy breaths, the awful sound of flesh on flesh, and the tinny whirring of his hoverchair would have alerted anyone in the building.

"So, Tess, you heard the news, 'ey?" he asked casually, even though the both of them knew this wasn't a casual conversation.

"What news? About the Underground commander?" She kept cleaning, timing the pause until he spoke.

"Yes. Big shocker, ey? Bad for the rebels, I should think."

She decided it was time to look up, facing him with her patented 'dumb blonde' look.

"I heard he was a tough guy," she said. "But there are a lot of rebels, right? Someone else can have his job, can't they?"

"I suppose," Krew replied, following his answer with a phlegm-rich cough. "But mark my words, Tessy, this'll be bad for business."

"What do you mean?" she asked, scrunching her nose up.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, ey? I'll go to the back to check on a few orders."

She didn't watch him go, but she did keep an eye behind her for the rest of the night. She wasn't made, as far as she could tell, but she needed to keep it that way if she didn't want Krew gutting her like a fish.

Just as last call rolled around, Sig walked in. When their eyes met, Tess could feel the night's pressure crushing her; Sig looked as weary and crestfallen as she did.

"Hey there, Sig," she said, grunting as she hauled a lolling drunk out of a booth. "Here to see Krew?"

"Yeah." He nodded toward the man Tess was now holding up. "Need help?"

"Ugh, yeah, he's dead weight. Put him out on the curb, would you?"

He saluted. "Yes ma'am."

She finished ushering the last of the stragglers outside so she could lock up; Sig dumped the guy outside and made his way to the back, calling for Krew. When her boss emerged, Tess managed to smile.

"You need anything else before I go, Krew?"

He waved her off, and she left.

It took a long time to get to Underground HQ using the winding and indirect route she took, but there was no choice. She'd have to be on guard now more than ever-especially at this hour, when no one would be around to witness anything that might happen to her.

Doing a last check to make sure she hadn't been followed, she desended the steps into the hideout, bumping into a soldier at the bottom.

The place was packed.

Torn's officers appeared to be up at the front-she could hear their voices-and many of the rank and file seemed to have congregated too. She began shoving her way up toward's Torn's desk, a path forming as people realized who was jostling them.

The Shadow and Torn's four top officers were arguing over his desk. She saw Jak leaning against the wall behind them, blue eyes glassy and unfocused.

 _Oh, Jak._

Daxter was curled around his neck like a scarf, probably trying to comfort him. But she couldn't spare time to help them out yet; there was other work to be done.

"Nice of you to show up, Tess," said Merle, the officer who ran operations on the west side of the city. "Now that you're done playing kitchen at Krew's."

"I was doing my job," she said. "I'm a spy. I'm supposed to blend in and get intel, not run out, whitefaced, at the first sign of bad news."

Face reddening, Merle made to respond, but Samos put up a hand.

"Tess," he said, "how are people in the city taking the news?"

"Depends on the people," she replied. "But I think everyone out there agrees that the Underground is in trouble without Torn."

"Which is why we need to choose a new second-in-command," said Jethra, another one of the officers. "Shadow? Any thoughts?"

"Well, Torn had prepared for something like this, of course," the Shadow replied slowly. "And he did leave his recommendation for a replacement."

"Who was it?!" Merle demanded impatiently.

"Will you honor his choice? I, personally, think it was inspired," the shorter man said, and that was when Tess noticed how he was avoiding her gaze.

 _Oh, Precursors. Torn, what have you done?_

"I will," said a soldier somewhere in the crowd around the desk. After he had spoken, assents rippled through the assembly. Tess felt that each murmur was another handful of dirt on her grave.

"Jethra, Merle, Lynx, Xavier?" He addressed the four remaining-and most important-soldiers. "Do you all agree to be bound by Torn's choice?" Tess closed her eyes.

 _Say no, say no. I can't._

Jethra nodded. "Whoever it is, the sooner they can get to work, the better." Xavier and Lynx nodded as she said it.

Merle eyed the Shadow. "Depends on who it is."

"Merle," Jethra snapped. "If it's not you, it's not you. Torn deserved his command; he deserves to choose who it should pass to next."

The man glared, and then looked down at the Shadow.

"I agree," he grumbled, grudgingly. "Only because I respected the hell out of the bastard."

"Excellent," the Shadow replied. "He asked that Tess be the one to take his position."

There was dead silence. Tess waited, but wasn't sure for what. Accusations that she had somehow tricked Torn, used her tits and her pretty face to get the job? That she wasn't qualified? That no one would respect her?

Jethra was the first to step forward. She offered her hand.

"Congratulations, Commander."


	3. Chapter 2

_Spargus_

Torn walked into the elevator flanked by two guards, who, to his surprise, didn't shove or push him at all. They were standoffish, but not disrespectful.

He remembered, when he was young, that the guards had been like that. Damas had only rarely exiled people, but it hadn't been the spectacle it became under Praxis. There were no jeering crowds or cruel soldiers. Everyone had still been afforded dignity.

That was what it was, he realized-or one of the things-that made this city so different from Haven. Damas' powerful presence, his dignified and measured air, had spread over this place. It was a town where you held your head up and spoke your mind. Not like Haven at all, where you kept your face to the ground and did what you were told.

The elevator ground to a stop at the top floor, and he blinked in surprise. Fountains and pools of water, and actual green plants-this far out in the desert, it was a palace indeed.

Damas was waiting, sitting on his throne with his fingers curled loosely on his staff. Torn felt like an ant under his gaze, but met his eyes anyway. He had sworn when he left that KG that no one would make him less than he was ever again. Not Praxis, not Erol, and not Damas, no matter what came.

"What is your name and rank, soldier?"

"Torn Warren, your highness. Second-in-command of the Underground."

Damas raised his eyebrows.

Torn decided to play the only card he had before Damas threw him in a dungeon somewhere. "Sig can vouch for me, sir."

And Damas' eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"Sig?" he asked, with the same even tone.

"A Wastelander who works with the Underground. Before I arrived here, I had always just assumed that he was unusually resourceful. But it makes a lot more sense that Spargus would be his home base, given all the artifacts he's brought over the years, and his knowledge of the desert and the metalheads. Besides, it would also make sense, from a Spargan perspective, to get him involved with the revolutionary elements in the city. Next best thing to installing him in Praxis' throne room."

Silence. Torn held eye contact with the king.

"Am I wrong?"

Damas gestured to one of the warriors flanking his throne, who handed him a communicator.

He punched in a few numbers and held the device in the palm of his hand, waiting. The soft hum of static didn't do anything to alleviate Torn's nervousness. Finally, the speaker crackled with noise.

"Damas? What's wrong?" Sig's voice was tight, businesslike.

"Nothing yet," the king replied, keeping his eyes on the prisoner.

" _You've_ never called _me_ , Damas. What's going on?"

"I have a newcomer to Spargus that claims you can vouch for him. One Torn Warren. He's told me he's second-in-command of the rebellion. Anything to say, Sig?"

"That son-of-a-bitch made it to Spargus? He's alive?"

"Apparently."

"Let me talk to him."

Damas tossed the comm over to one of Torn's guards, who held it close enough for Sig to hear him.

"I heard that, you know," Torn told Sig dryly.

Sig laughed. "It _is_ you. Congratulations on staying alive this long! Damas, I vouch for him. He's who he says he is."

"Sig, how are things there? What is the Underground doing?"

"What you told them to do. Tess was named second-in-command last night by the Shadow. Good call on that, by the way-I would have chosen Tess too."

"Are the others going to listen to her?"

"For the most part, I think everyone agrees that she deserves it. There was a little bit of grumbling in the ranks, but the officers have all agreed to respect her leadership, and everyone seems to be following their lead. Jethra's come out as Tess' strongest supporter, and you know she's universally respected."

"She would have been my second choice. Glad she's helping Tess keep order," Torn said. "And Jak?"

Torn didn't really care what Damas or the guards thought about him checking in on his boyfriend. He needed to know that Jak wasn't about to go out and get himself killed.

Sig was quiet for a few moments. "Well. He's doing about as well as could be expected."

"Try to talk him into staying out of trouble. I mean, you know how I feel about him-but Tess is going to need him to fight Praxis, too."

"I read you. And I'll do my best. For what it's worth, he does seem to listen to me. Sometimes."

Torn scoffed. "That makes one of us."

"Gentlemen," Damas said, "I hate to interrupt. But I need to have a private discussion with Commander Warren. And Sig, I expect you'll be back here at the previously agreed-upon time? I will allow the two of you to speak more then."

His tone brooked no argument. Torn, to his surprise, didn't resent the intrusion. Damas wasn't being controlling or unreasonable. Just calm and authoritative, assured of his own weight with his people.

Though Torn knew he wasn't among those people yet. Did he want to be?

"Sure thing, Damas. I'll be back on time with a full report. Sig out."

The communicator was tossed back to the guard who'd given it to the king in the first place. Damas stood, and motioned to Torn's guards to leave the room. The warriors by his throne headed out too, though one stayed at the far side of the room next to the elevator.

The king moved over to sit near by one of the small pools, and gestured for Torn to join him. Torn sat, but kept a respectful distance. He didn't want anyone thinking he was going to try and assassinate Damas, least of all Damas himself, whose arms were about as thick as Torn's neck. He didn't just command an army of warriors; he was a soldier himself.

"Commander."

Torn sighed. "You don't need to use the title, your highness. It's not mine anymore."

"Yet you still have something of it about you."

"I was caught and exiled. I had prepared for this possibility, but it means no one answers to me now."

"I'll address you that way, still. There might be more truth to it than you think. In any case," Damas said, "I would like you to brief me on the situation in Haven, including the rebellion, as of your exile. And your own personal background would be welcome, if you don't mind. I need to know what kind of man you are."

Torn scowled. "And you'll, what, just take my word for it? If I tell you I'm trying to do something good?"

"How the story is told reveals much about the teller. But yes, Sig will be giving me a full report later, and I'll compare the two," the king replied, inclining his head.

"Fine," Torn replied. "I hope you're comfortable, because this will take a while."


	4. Chapter 3

Tess was sitting in Torn's seat.

Technically, it was hers now, but she felt like he was going to walk in any minute now and ask her what she was doing there. Once, a few months after joining the Underground, she'd actually tried on his armor-his boots and greaves and pauldrons. He hadn't caught her playing pretend then, but she felt like she was doing the same thing now. His boots would always be too big for her to fill.

Daxter was curled up in her lap, asleep-he and Jak had just returned from a mission to liberate some agents from a compromised safehouse. She stroked his fur absently while she examined reports from one of their people stationed in the palace.

The Dark Warrior Project had continued without Jak, but hadn't achieved any success. Prisoners-some of them former Underground agents or sympathizers-were being brought in as test subjects, and Praxis was going through them fast.

Praxis was keeping the war with the metalheads going on purpose. Jak had found out that much, and that he was supplying them with eco. To stop the project, Tess reasoned, she'd have to cut the Baron's eco supply. But cutting the supply also meant removing his bargaining chip with the metalheads, who would likely attack the city en masse.

Removing Praxis directly-even if it could be managed-would also shut down the alliance with the metalheads, leading to outright war with them. And if that happened, Tess doubted the city would survive. The KG were Haven's police and military both, and were the only force that could possibly stop the full force of the metalheads. Would they be able and willing to respond if their leader was murdered?

"Probably not," Tess murmured, putting her face in her hands.

What was she going to do? What were _they_ going to do?

A soft touch on her arm broke her out of her thoughts. Jak was leaning against the desk frowning down at her.

"You should get some sleep," he said, quietly, so as not to wake Daxter. "It looks like you're not getting anywhere right now."

"I can't. There's too much to do."

"You sound like Torn," he said, managing a weak smile.

"I do, don't I?" she replied, smiling back. "I feel like I'm turning into my father, or something."

That got a chuckle out of Jak. "Good thing he's not around to hear you say that. I can just picture the look on his face."

Tess giggled. She could, too.

Jak offered his hand. "Come on. You and Daxter both need your beauty sleep."

"Well, we can't help it that we're not as pretty as you are, Jak," she replied.

Jak smirked. "No one can help that."

Tess was so startled that she laughed loudly enough to wake Daxter, who jumped out of her lap and on to the desk.

"I wasn't ready for that," she said through her laughter.

"You weren't ready for what, babe?" Daxter asked, looking back and forth between the two blondes.

"Jak to admit how pretty he is."

" _What?_ "

"She's delirious; don't believe her," Jak said, though he was smiling. "Now, both of you need to go and sleep."

"C'mon, Daxxie," Tess said, rising and stretching. "Let's get some shut-eye."

Daxter eyed Jak suspiciously, even as the ottsel hopped onto Tess' shoulder. "I am totally gonna figure out what you said to make her laugh like that, just you wait."

Jak shook his head. "I'll stay out here and hold down the fort while you guys rest. Tess, if anything critical comes up, I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Jak," she said, giving him a genuine smile. "See you in the morning."

When Tess actually woke the next morning and had gotten some coffee, she found Jak still poring over mission reports.

"Anything useful come in?" she asked.

He shook his head, lines of fatigue showing around his eyes.

"No. Just thinking about how to put everything together." His smile was rueful. "Never had to think about the endgame of all this before. Just did what I was told."

"You don't have to now, you know," Tess said slowly, stirring her coffee, even though there was no point-they had no cream or sugar in the base, given that they were hard enough for normal people to get. The Underground couldn't waste resources on those kinds of luxuries.

Jak sighed and leaned back. "I don't have to. But I should, shouldn't I?" He looked up at Tess. "I can't just run off and do what I want to do. Not when so much is at stake. I can't expect everybody else to handle the responsibility."

"You feel like you did that with Torn?" Tess asked, brow furrowing.

"I _know_ I did that with Torn."

"For all your flaws, you know, you've done a lot for the Underground. Don't beat yourself up. At least you helped, even when you were being irresponsible."

"So you're not denying that I've been irresponsible." He said, eyes darkening.

"No. But nobody's perfect. You're young and you went through a lot, and the fact that you're even functional is kind of an achievement, really," Tess said, setting her coffee down on the desk. "Now, let's switch. _You_ go get some rest while _I_ try to figure out how to get us out of this mess."

"Wait. Question for you."

Tess cocked her head. "Shoot."

"Does Ashelin know her father's working with the metalheads?"

"I...don't know," Tess said slowly. "She mostly spoke with Torn and the Shadow, so I have no idea _what_ she knows."

"Maybe we should call her. Get her over here. Or one of us should meet her somewhere?" Jak suggested. "We need to figure out where we stand with our most important double agent. And maybe she has some suggestions about dealing with Praxis without causing a metalhead invasion."

"I'll call her right now," Tess said. "I should have thought of that already."

Jak shook his head. "You've had a lot on your mind. Sorting out all this stuff, and dealing with the daily crises. I'm going to go get some rest-but wake me if Ashelin comes by, would you?"

"Sure thing."

Ashelin, as it turned out, did not know that her father was working with the metalheads.

And she wasn't taking it well.

"You're sure about this? Absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Ashelin," Jak said, eye twitching. "I hate the Baron, but giving you the wrong information doesn't really help anyone. I saw KG giving dark eco to the metalheads, and I know that he's working with the metalheads to keep the war from ending, and to keep them from destroying the city."

"And I saw it too," Daxter piped up. "Face it, Red, your pop's workin' with the metalheads."

Ashelin was standing in front of Tess' desk with her hands braced on top, and she leaned forward, getting in Tess' face.

"Why didn't Torn tell me about this?"

Tess was unmoved. "Maybe because he thought you'd react this way? Or that you'd refuse to believe it?"

"How has he kept it from me all this time?" Ashelin snarled.

Tess shrugged. "All I know is, that's our intel. We wanted to know if you knew about it, and now we have our answer. The question is, where do we go from here?"

"Why would he work with them? He's trying to beat them right now! He's looking for the-" Ashelin paused, biting her lip.

"He's looking for what, Ashelin?" Tess asked, voice hard.

It was at this moment that the Shadow came into the room.

"My apologies for being late to this meeting," he said, "but I was tending to some of the soldiers' injuries. Nothing fatal this time." He looked between Ashelin and Tess. "I seem to have interrupted something."

"What is the Baron looking for, Ashelin? What does he think will help him defeat the metalheads?"

Ashelin looked back and forth between Tess and the Shadow, unsure. Then her face smoothed out to a blank expression.

"Nothing, Tess. Forget I said anything."

"Bullshit," Tess shouted, slamming her fist on the desk. "Do you not trust me? Is that the problem?"

"I think the Underground needs to remember that they're not the only ones who protect this city," Ashelin replied. "And that they couldn't protect it alone. I agree with you about a lot of things, but-I don't always know that you're going to make the best decisions for Haven."

The time for caution had come and gone. Tess threw out her usual subtlety.

"He's looking for the Precursor Stone, isn't he?"

Ashelin started back. "How do you know about that?!"

"Because, Lady Praxis, we want to save this city just as much as you do," Tess snarled, leaning over the desk. Her nose was inches from Ashelin's. "And we know we need the stone to do it. Did you think we were too stupid to figure that out? Or maybe you thought we were too busy feeding and clothing and protecting the citizens that you seem to forget about while you're up in clouds? Doesn't leave us much time for research."

"Tess," the Shadow said in a warning tone.

Tess took a deep breath through her nose. "Shadow, with all due respect, she's half in, half out on helping the Underground. How can we trust an agent who's only conditionally committed to the cause?"

"Conditionally?" Jak asked quietly from Tess' right.

"On the condition that we follow her vision for what the city should be. Which includes her in charge, I'm sure, once her father is gone." She looked hard at Ashelin. "Am I wrong?"

Ashelin's hands were balled into fists at her sides, and she looked as if she'd just eaten something sour. Opening her mouth to speak, she paused, then closed it again, not trusting herself to speak.

"Ashelin," the Shadow carefully began, but she shook her head, turned on her heel, and left.

Jak, Tess and the Shadow sat in silence for a few minutes, Tess sitting back down and chewing her lip in frustration.

"So," Jak finally said, "what now?"

"We keep looking for the stone, of course," Tess said. "And continuing daily operations."

"Couldn't Ashelin sell us out?"

"She could," Tess admitted. "But what would it gain her? We're the only tool she has to combat her father that's not under Praxis' or Erol's control. She needs us, or at least still sees us as useful."

"Tess," the Shadow said quietly. "I'm not sure I agree with what you just did."

"We'll see what she does now," Tess replied. "And then you can tell me what you think about it."


	5. Chapter 4

Happy New Year! Here's a new chapter. I apologize in advance, because fighting scenes are not my forte. I did my best!

Wherein Torn tries to survive his first trial with only a shitty gun, two knives, and his wits, since we can't all be pretty boys with magical eco powers. And then he proceeds to feel an unfortunate amount of feelings. Also, Sig!

* * *

 _Spargus_

Torn was about to fall to his death.

He put all of his strength into heaving himself up onto the last platform, collecting the last of the Eco in his first trial. He'd managed to make all the jumps around the arena and collect everything, though he didn't really understand what it proved about his usefulness to Spargus.

As the elevator took him back up to stand in front of the king's dais, the roar of the spectators rang in his ears. He wasn't sure if they were rooting for him to win or to fail. Probably both, or whichever one was more entertaining.

He put his hands behind his back, instinctively falling into parade rest in front of the king.

"Anyone can make a few measly jumps. Let's see how you handle real combat!" Damas tossed him a red eco blaster that looked as if it had seen better days. The grips were worn utterly smooth and Torn was willing to bet that any recoil dampeners in the thing were burnt out, meaning it was going to have a hell of a kickback every time he fired.

There was no sense in protesting. He was sure that the subpar gun was part of the challenge. Besides, he'd managed to get two of his knives out of Haven-the guards didn't check for weapons other than guns, because knives weren't going to do you much good in the middle of the desert.

At least Damas had provided armor, ill-fitting though it was. Torn couldn't do much at this point but try and pass the test.

The platform he found himself on was circular, surrounded on all sides by entrances for enemy combatants. The layout put him at a grave disadvantage, but at least it was simple to navigate.

It took him a few shots into the air to get used to the gun, but he had a sense of it before Damas started sending out combatants, the first of whom were dead before they were two steps into the arena. The crowd whooped and cheered.

 _Two down._

Four men came from different doors at once after that. Torn took one out right off the bat, then ducked and rolled to avoid a blast of yellow eco. Two of the other men were closing in; he let them get close enough to finish them off with one blast of red eco.

Contestant number four was keeping his distance for the time being. Smart, given that Torn's gun had no range. He and Torn circled each other warily for a minute, but when three other men emerged onto the field, he melded into their group and pushed forward. There was no way Torn's shitty weapon would be able to get all four at once.

Heat from the lava just past the platform's edge was warming the backs of Torn's legs. If he moved back any further, his heels would be hanging over the edge.

One of his opponents grinned at him unpleasantly, half of the man's upper lip missing entirely and exposing his gums. He lifted his gun slowly, swaggering towards the former commander. Two of the other Marauders were not quite shoulder to shoulder with their comrade, eyes tracking his moves and imitating him.

As soon as the leader was within three paces, Torn dropped to his knees, sliding within two inches of the Marauder's dusty boots. The man's eyes widened in surprise before Torn fired up into his and his companions' faces, practically vaporizing them at such close range.

That left one Maurauder, the one from the previous group of combatants. Already close to him, Torn pushed himself up and into the guy's face in one smooth movement.

His knife was between the man's ribs before he could even draw his gun. His opponent fell to the ground without a sound, blood blooming across his chest.

 _Five more men. Precursors, this had better be the final wave._

Torn grabbed the more precise yellow eco rifle off of one of his opponents' rifles and started firing. He downed two of the guys in the first burst of fire-shoot enough times in a certain direction, and you're bound to hit something.

 _Three more. Just three more._

Said three were attempting to surround him-which meant they were spreading out, moving towards the edges of the platform. Torn could use that. He skirted their fire, ducking and rolling, but he could only dodge for so long and so far.

Torn managed to roll close enough to one of the Marauders to kick the man's legs out from under him, and he toppled backwards into the lava. He popped up into a crouch and killed the man across the way as he tried to register what had just happened. The last rushed him, firing wildly and trying to startle or crowd him off of the platform. Torn simply rolled out of his way at the last moment, and the man couldn't stop in time to keep himself from falling face-first into the lava.

Torn spun away from the edge to face the arena again, waiting to see if any more opponents would come out. But none did, and the elevator to the king's dais came down to pick him up. He trudged on to it, trying to keep his feet as the adrenaline rapidly left his body.

Damas stood to face him.

"Well done," he said, then tossed something to Torn. The exhausted commander just barely caught it.

"You have completed the first step toward becoming a citizen of Spargus," the king said. "This is the first of three battle amulets you will earn as you complete your trials. And here is a gate pass to allow passage in and out of the city. You will return to the arena for your second trial soon enough."

Damas didn't mention in front of the crowd that Torn was leaving the arena simply to return to the palace, where he was quartering him for the time being. He wanted to keep the commander close, and if, as he suspected, the man became one of his officers, he would likely live in the palace anyway.

One of the palace's luxuries included a bathtub, for which Torn was infinitely grateful as he sank into it, muscles aching. A burn on his calf announced itself with a sharp sting when it hit the hot water, but it wasn't painful enough to keep him from enjoying the hot water anyway.

He was just happy to have escaped from serious injury-bruises and burns were all that he had sustained in the trial. _I can't believe I'm going to have to do that twice more. I hope the jumping part is first-time only, at least._

He had only just dried off and gotten into clean clothes when a knock came at his door, and he had to suppress a groan as he trudged toward it, rather than his soft bed.

Sig eyed him critically when he opened the door.

"You're actually looking better than I thought you would," he said as Torn stepped back to let him in.

"Trust me, it's window dressing. My body is just a giant bruise. It's been awhile since I was in the field for anything, let alone a brawl against about twenty guys."

"It didn't look like it, actually, if that's any consolation" Sig replied. "You handled that shitty gun pretty well. Damas was impressed."

Torn gave him a flat look. "I find that hard to believe."

Sig shrugged. "We don't get many exiles directly from Haven, and most of those who are eligible for the combat trials don't make it through the first one. And you completed it without breaking anything."

"How do you determine who's 'eligible?'" Torn asked. "I thought this place was supposed to be a city of warriors?"

"It is. But if we get a janitor who saw something he wasn't supposed to in the Palace, and that's how he got thrown out, it's not really fair to put him in the arena. Basically, if you find your way to Spargus and you've never worn armor or held a gun, you go through a different citizenship process. Monitored work detail, that sort of thing, until we know what your skills are and that we can trust you."

"That makes sense," Torn said, nodding and turning towards the window. "So. Spargus?"

Sig sighed. "I couldn't tell you. Any of you. If anyone in Haven knows about this place, they didn't hear it from me."

"I understand," Torn said, turning back to face him. Sig raised an eyebrow.

"Do you?"

Torn stood and walked to the window, leaning on the sill, with Sig following a few paces behind.

"At first I was pissed. But even though I've only been here a few days...I look at this place that Damas has built, and I can see what it's worth. I can't blame you for deceiving us for the sake of preserving all this."

"Sometimes I forget," Sig said smiling, ruefully, "how alien Spargus is to outsiders, whether from Haven or from further out in the Wastelands. People can't believe a place like this exists when they get here. After what you've been through in Haven, this must all seem unreal."

"It does," Torn said. They were silent for a few moments, watching the city outside in the unforgiving sun. "I'm...not sure I want to go back to Haven, even if I could. And I know I'm shit for that, you don't have to tell me."

"You're not," Sig said seriously. "You gave so much of yourself-"

"Not enough, dammit," Torn said, raising his voice a little. "It'll never be enough. Not until Haven is _better._ "

"You did everything you could." Now Sig was talking to him like he was a wounded animal, and Torn knew why. Knew he had to acknowledge the fact that'd been creeping up on him since his exile came down.

He had to give up Haven. The rebellion. He was never going back.

He felt like he's lost a limb.

"There has to be a way for me to help them," he said, as close to pleading as he'd been since he was 20 and convinced the Shadow to let him into the Underground.

"You know there's not," Sig said quietly. "There's no way for you to return without making things harder for the Underground. And for yourself. Even if you could get back inside the walls-shit, Torn, it was hard enough before you were exiled. Walking back into the city will just give the Baron a reason to crush the Underground even harder."

"I just-" He swallowed and closed his eyes, unable to keep going without losing it. Sig's hand landed on his shoulder gently.

"Torn. It's hard to believe when I say I know how you feel, but trust me: I know how you feel. So does Damas. So do most of his forces. We all had to give up what we thought defined us when we ended up here. Spargus is a city of warriors second; it's a city of outcasts first. This is going to change you, but it won't break you. Trust me. _I get it._ "

Torn closed his eyes and bowed his head, and a long time passed without he or Sig saying anything. The other man's hand never left his shoulder.

Finally, the commander lifted his head. "When you go back to Haven, can you keep an eye on Tess and Jak for me? And Ashelin, and the Shadow."

Sig nodded. "Of course."

"I know you can't tell them I'm alive."

"No. I can't. I'm sorry."

"I wish Jak could see this. All this sun and fresh air. I think he'd do well here."

Sig chuckled. "He'd love the garage. Probably go driving around in the desert like a maniac."

Torn hummed. "Maybe for the better that he's not here to get into trouble, then." He turned to Sig. "I should probably eat and then get some rest."

The other man nodded. "You should. You kicked some ass, Torn. See you tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 5

_Guess who's back! OK, I apologize, this one's a little short, but I wanted to get the ball rolling on the Haven side of the coin before I moved on with Torn's side of the story. There is a method behind the madness. Probably._

 _Haven_

Jak pushed his wet hair out of his eyes as he and Daxter waited behind a shack in Dead Town.

"Why's it always gotta pour when we have to sit around outside?" Daxter hissed, fur slick with rainwater. "You can just take off yer wet clothes. I gotta live in wet fur."

Jak knew he was complaining just to have something to say. "I'll bet Tess will help you dry off when we get back."

"Now that thought warms me right up. My Tessy holding me close, right between-"

There was a soft rustling, then a metallic clank. Jak took the safety off his gun, then peeked around the wall.

Metalheads were removing a sewer grate from below and emerging into Dead Town. They weren't being particularly quiet or covert, so clearly they didn't expect anyone to be around to observe them.

Only three came up out of the grate, but Jak didn't shoot. He quietly waited until they had moved away, then stole back to Haven.

Once he'd reached safety and hopped a zoomer (not stolen, this time-he'd actually parked it in an alley near the city gates) Daxter started chatting to him again.

"So Jethra was right after all, huh? I hate it when she's right."

"Yep."

Everyone knew the Metalheads used the sewers. That was pretty well established. But Jethra had, a few days ago, raised the possibility that the way they were getting in was from Dead Town sewer openings that had never been covered after the Metalheads had moved in. Thus far, the Underground had assumed the Metalheads had dug their way into the system somewhere, or that the Baron was letting them into the system as a part of their bargain.

Jak had been scouting out sewer openings in Dead Town for two days now, figuring out which ones were being used by Metalheads, and was returning to HQ with a map.

"There's no way we got all of them in two days. We're going to have to go back out there, Dax."

Daxter groaned and started up a token protest about his delicate constitution. Jak smiled and carefully wove their way back to the Underground.

Ashelin was waiting when they arrived. She was sitting just inside the door, clearly trying to be inconspicuous.

"Red! What brings you back among these riffraff?" Daxter asked, shaking himself. Ashelin glared as water droplets started landing on her armor.

"I came to talk to you," she told Jak, voice low. Jak raised an eyebrow.

"About what?"

"About my father and the Precursor Stone. And...about Torn, too."

Jak's expression darkened, but he said nothing.

"Listen," Ashelin said, shifting her weight nervously. "He might...still be alive. There's a chance. I think-"

"What?! And you're just mentioning this now? He's been gone for weeks!" Jak surged forward, getting into her space. Ashelin didn't back away.

"Well, I don't _know_!" She hissed back. "But there's somewhere in the Wastelands he might have gone. Somewhere my father doesn't know about."

"No one lives outside Haven's walls," Daxter countered.

"Someone does. Damas."

Jak blinked, not recognizing the name immediately. His grip on Haven's pre-Baron history was shaky at best. But Daxter had a good head for names.

"Damas? The poor sucker Praxis overthrew? How could he be livin' out in the desert?"

"The last king is alive? And you never told us?" Jak hissed. The metallic taste of Dark Eco was on his tongue as his temper rose.

"I couldn't risk you letting it slip to my father!" Ashelin replied.

"What?! _We're_ the ones at risk of leaking information?" Jak clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to relive some of his tension. "OK, Ashelin, assuming this is true, and Damas is alive, how do _you_ know it and how do you know Praxis _doesn't_?"

"I was scouting solo outside the city once, taking a high-risk mission to piss off my father," Ashelin said with a sigh. "The KG does patrols and scouting missions outside of the walls, sometimes. And I saw a transport leaving under cover of darkness, going out into the desert. I followed it some of the way, then came back when it started going way out into the badlands. So I staked it out the next night, and the next. Finally, I overheard enough of their conversation to figure out that they were going to some kind of settlement in the Wastelands, run by a man named Damas."

"Is Damas a common name?" Jak asked. "How do you know it's him?"

"Yeah, Red, and how come nobody else has ever seen this transport, if there are people besides you who scout outside the walls?"

"I'm getting to that!" Ashelin snapped. "Well, I took a chance on the fourth night and approached them with my hands up, no weapons. They had their weapons trained on me, but they let me talk. I told them who I was, and basically that they had better be more discreet in the future because someone less sympathetic would stumble on them."

"And they just...believed you? Let you walk away?" Jak asked incredulously.

"No, idiot. They interrogated me about KG operations, and I gave them answers as a show of good faith. Then, once I had satisfied them, they left, and warned me that they had people in the city, so if someone gave out the word about Damas and the settlement, they would know who did it."

She sighed, and ran a hand through her dreads. "And then...later, after I had talked to them a few times, they gave me this." She pulled out an odd-looking communicator, round and earth colored, with a glass bulb in the middle.

"What is it?" Daxter asked.

"A beacon, they said. If it's activated, some of their people will...come to your location, I guess. Sounds like they're usually used for Wastelanders who get caught in sandstorms or get lost in the desert."

"Did Torn have one?" Jak demanded impatiently.

Ashelin's brow furrowed, and she closed her eyes. "No. He should have. I should have given him one. I should have told him all this. But..."

"But what?" Jak asked, nearly shouting. He could feel hot tears welling up, the old white-hot grief and anger coming back to him after weeks without Torn.

"I was stupid, OK?! I was proud and I loved my father and _I made the wrong choice_. I'm sorry, alright?"

"Oh you're sorry? Oh, good, great, that fixes everything! Nevermind that you let the person who had the best chance of saving this city die, and that you never trusted him in the first place!"

" _What is going on out here?!_ " Tess and Jethra came storming out into the entryway, and Jak realized that he and Ashelin had been shouting.

"Hey, don't worry, everything's fine," Daxter began, trying desperately to smooth things over. "Jak just got a little hot under the collar, you know how it is, and you know Red over here is always smokin', am I right?"

"What were the two of you arguing about?" Jethra asked, undeterred by Daxter's deflection.

Jak and Ashelin looked at each other, and it didn't escape the blonde's notice that she had put the beacon away again where Tess couldn't see.

"Ashelin? Do you have anything you want to say?" Jak asked, unable to measure whether she'd be willing to come clean to Tess or not. He was giving her an out.

The Baron's daughter tensed, then sighed wearily.

"We should probably all sit," she said. "This is going to be a long talk."


	7. Chapter 6

_Surprise! I'm still alive! And here's an update! I'm so sorry this took so long...as an avid reader of fanfiction myself, I know how much it sucks when someone takes 82 decades to update. So I'm hoping readers will forgive me and come back and read this...and let me know what you think of the story so far! I don't bite!_

* * *

Torn was still getting used to the thick goggles that kept sand out of his eyes, but the bandana around his nose and mouth was familiar. He'd done a lot of missions in the sewers, after all.

Damas had tasked him with leading a recon mission to the west of Spargus, where a large but meagre camp of scavengers was living. Whether they were cast-offs from Marauder bands, Spargan exiles, or just possibly members of the far-flung tribes to the south of which even Damas knew little, these people were probably just trying to survive-which meant they might be desperate enough to raid comparatively prosperous Spargus.

Torn and three others would be heading out to see if they could discern their plans, and how much of a threat they might be.

And the commander knew that just because he wasn't in the arena didn't mean this wasn't a test.

They were taking two of the Dune Hoppers out, in case they needed to escape trouble fast. And in case they needed to launch some grenades.

"Equipment's strapped down, boss," said Baz, who was driving with Torn. He was climbing behind the wheel, goggles over his eyes. Messy brown hair was mostly covered by a blue bandana, and a matching one covered his face.

"Fairel? Flynn?"

"Same here, Torn. Wait, not quite," said Flynn, a wiry woman glaring at her partner with exasperation. "Fairel, I swear to the Precursors, how many times have I told you how to fit out a Hopper?"

Fairel grunted, readjusting the straps holding down a tool kit in the second buggy's back compartment. Then he climbed into the passenger seat with no comment.

"Well, we've got the big lug loaded," said Flynn, hopping into the driver's seat. "Ready to head out when you are."

"Baz, you know where we're headed?" Torn asked.

"'Course I do. Like I told you, been scouting these parts for years now."

They pulled out of the garage and into the desert, still dark and chilly before the dawn.

"Your first time out of the city since you got here, right boss?" Baz called over the noise of the engine.

"Yeah, so I have no fucking idea how to navigate out here," Torn replied, going for honesty instead of false confidence. "How the hell do you find anything when it all looks the damn same?"

Baz laughed.

"I should tell you about the time Damas had to send out a rescue party for me because I got lost while scoping out a Marauder base. He wasn't happy."

"At least he didn't lose a scout."

"True enough," Baz said. "But you wanna know how I find my way around? Look straight up."

Torn craned his neck as he looked, then pulled off his goggles.

"I've never seen so many stars."

"Not if you're from Haven, you haven't. The stars and the sun are the only constants out here-everything else is always shifting. So those are what you'll learn, if you stay out here."

"They're beautiful."

"Yeah. Seems less like a shithole out here now, don't it."

"Maybe," Torn said, lips twitching.

"Good. We'll be there in an hour and a half-taking the long way round the camp to higher ground. It's quicker in a straight line, but it ain't like we're going to pay a visit."

The ramshackle enclave was close to Spargus-and nothing else. There weren't an abundance of permanent settlements in the Wastelands, but they did exist. However, none of those were close to the city, so these people couldn't have just pitched camp close to home. They had moved this way on purpose.

Mostly, the place seemed to be made up of tents, pitched with heavy canvas that keep the worst of the wind and storms out. They were simple to put up and take down, and could easily be rolled up and hung on the sides of pack animals or cars.

"Probably about 50 people," Flynn said, looking through binoculars. Perched behind the camp on a high sand dune, they hadn't yet been seen by any of the settlers.

Torn gestured for the binoculars, then stared for a long moment.

"No children, no elderly. These aren't refugees. Could they be Marauders?"

"An offshoot of Marauders, maybe," said Flynn. "They're too small to be one of the Marauder tribes, and they haven't got the flags we see in the tribal settlements. But they could be a group of misfits that just left a Marauder tribe. Hard to imagine where else they'd come from. The only other people in the Wastelands we know about are the Southern nomads, and they're a long way off. They don't travel this far north, or in large groups like this."

"They've only got two vehicles, and no beasts of burden. So they must be using the cars to carry supplies, while the rest walk? That doesn't scream "well organized" to me," said Torn.

"Since when are bandits well organized?" Flynn asked, amused. "They're kind of the bottom of the barrel. But you're right-that many people would only travel through the desert on foot if they were desperate."

Behind them, Baz made a strangled noise. Torn whipped around.

Fairel was on his knees with a blaster against his temple, held there by a woman in horned armor. She was tall and broad, probably capable of bench pressing Torn and Flynn together. Her lip curled as she surveyed the three standing Wastelanders.

"You think we didn't know Spargus would send somebody? As if you could just stroll out here, take a look at us, and run back to your king."

Torn gritted his teeth. "What do you want?"

"It's not about what I want," she said, smirking. "It's about you doing what I tell you to do. "You're coming back to camp with me, or this one dies."

She shoved the muzzle of the gun against Fairel's temple, making the large Wastelander grit his teeth. He made no sound.

"Don't do anything stupid," Torn said, putting his hands out palm up. "We didn't come out here to fight."

The woman laughed; it was a reedy, whining laugh that made the commander grind his teeth. "Maybe you didn't. But you sure didn't come out here to throw us a fuckin' party.

"Spargus will send more out next time if we go missing," Torn said. "Whatever you're trying to do, putting the city on alert ain't the best move."

"We'll just move up the timeline, then."

"What timeline?"

"The one where we attack Spargus, capture your king, and find out where the Precursor Stone is."

Torn's heart froze in his chest. _What the_ _ **fuck?**_

"What's the Precursor Stone?" asked Flynn, never taking her eyes off the muzzle against Fairel's head. Baz, though, was watching Torn's reaction.

The woman in the horned armor shrugged.

"Not important to you, since you're never going to see it. Now, you three move. I'll bring up the rear with your friend here."

Flynn and Torn exchanged glances, both seeing resignation in the other's eyes. Even if they were willing to sacrifice Fairel, a gunshot into his brain would alert the rest of the camp that somebody was up on the ridge. For now, the enemy had the upper hand-and they were going to have to go along.

Torn let Baz and Flynn pass in front of him, staying as close as he could to their captor. It looked like it would be about a ten-minute walk to take them all the way to the camp, which meant he had about five minutes to free them before they got too deep into trouble to make a break for it. He just needed one second of distraction, and they could overpower her and get the hell out of here.

They moved down from their lookout in silence for a minute or two. As they walked over a small dune, he let himself stumble, coming to rest on one knee.

"Up," the armored woman barked. "Now."

Torn hadn't survived this long by being slow.

He had a handful of sand tossed in the woman's face so fast that she was still in mid-step when it hit. Fairel took the moment to push away from her and out of the line of fire, while Torn moved in and punched her in the face.

A sickly crunch informed him that her nose was broken, and he took advantage of her distraction to rip the gun out of her hands.

"You son of a-"

Fairel silenced her by slamming his ham-sized fist against her jaw. She was out like a light.

Flynn knelt down, quickly searching their captor for anything useful to take back to Damas. She tossed Torn a communicator, unusually sleek compared to other comms he'd seen out here. Her slim fingers also pulled out a worn, creased piece of paper, but she found nothing else. She gave the paper to Torn with a nod.

"Get to the Hoppers. Move." Torn said, already pushing back up to the buggies. The others moved to follow the order immediately.

There was no other conversation until they had been driving for some time.

"So," Baz called over the desert wind, "what's the Precursor Stone?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Torn asked, trying for a casual tone.

"I saw your face. When she brought it up. You looked like you were gonna pass out."

"Drop it, Baz."

"Torn. You just got to Spargus. Now suddenly you've run into some people willing to attack Spargus for some mysterious rock, and you know what it is they're looking for. Does that not sound suspicious? Maybe I should ask Damas if he thinks so."

Torn ran a hand over his face in frustration, forgetting his bandana. It slipped down, and he got a mouthful of sand.

"Son of a bitch," he yelled, hacking up a lung. "My first impression was right. This place _is_ a shithole."

There was a long pause between the two men, with Torn finishing his coughing fit and Baz focused on getting back to Spargus as fast as possible. Finally, Torn spoke.

"Baz, I'm not trying to hide anything. I'm going to tell Damas what I know when we get back-but I can't tell you. Not until I've talked it over with him, first."

Baz shrugged. "I guess we'll see what happens then, won't we?"

Damas was less than thrilled with the mission report from the beginning. But when Torn mentioned the Precursor Stone, his knuckles went white on his staff. Baz, Flynn and Fareil's gazes darted back and forth between the two men, whose black expressions seemed to reflect each other.

"You three are dismissed," Damas told them when Torn had finished. "I need to speak with the commander alone."

They hustled to the elevator nervously, unwilling to provoke the king further.

"What do you think it is?" Flynn asked quietly, once they were on the way down. Fareil just grunted and shrugged, clearly washing his hands of the whole affair. Baz sighed.

"Whatever it is, it's above our pay grades. What do you say we hit the bar?"

Fareil grunted in assent to that.


	8. Chapter 7

_Guess who's back! This chapter is a bit shorter than some of the recent ones but it needed to happen. I will try to update again soon! Let me know if you see any errors; I'm super open to feedback._

* * *

Torn had stared down a lot of people in his life. He'd rarely felt that someone's eyes were boring a hole through his head before, though. Damas was not a man he wanted to be alone with right now.

Finally, the king spoke.

"Commander, do you know what the Precursor Stone is?"

Torn took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

"Yes," he said, "I know what it is. But I don't know who these raiders were or how they found out about it."

"How do you know about the Stone?" Damas asked, still gripping his staff like he was trying to crush it.

"The Shadow was the first person to tell me about it. And then...Ashelin Praxis. Her father's been looking for it for a while now, but I can't say she told me how close he was to finding it. Once I joined the Underground, she wasn't that open with her information anymore."

"Praxis is looking for the Stone."

"Yes."

"What does he plan to do with it?"

"I..." Torn paused, unsure. "I don't know, exactly. I know about the Stone's existence, that it's supposed to be really powerful, but I don't know exactly what it does. The Shadow talked like he knew all about it, but...to be honest, I always felt like it was bigger than us. Not meant for people to have, if that makes any sense. But I did know I didn't want the Baron to get it. Ashelin seemed to think he was going to do something good with it. But I started taking her words with a grain of salt years ago. I think she's...a little out of touch with how far gone things are."

Damas sat down on the steps leading up to his throne, suddenly looking a hundred years old. He gestured for Torn to take a seat next to him.

Quiet hung on them for a long time-Torn wasn't sure how long he sat, listening to Damas' breathing and the trickling of the water through the throne room's fountain. Finally, he heard his companion shifting.

"This is grave news, Commander. If Praxis gets the Stone, then everything is over. The world as we know it will end."

"It can't be that bad."

"It can. The Precursor Stone has the power to destroy everything on the planet, and if I know Praxis, he has no idea what he's dealing with. He'll approach it with blunt force, trying to get it to work for him, and doom us all in doing so."

"So we need to stop him."

"Someone does, yes. But I will not endanger Spargus by revealing its existence to Haven. We are not going to wage a war on the city."

"So what's our plan, then? We can't just sit here!" Torn got up, pacing back in forth in front of Damas. He could feel his teeth grinding and his temples starting to ache as his mind raced, looking for a solution.

"I need to speak with Sig," Damas said. "He can warn the members of your Underground, including perhaps Ashelin herself."

"They need help though, Damas," Torn said. "You don't understand how much of a longshot it is for them to actually get to the Baron before he reaches the Stone. And if they get the Stone, what will they do with it? How will they keep it away from him once they've got it?"

"I need to speak with Sig," Damas repeated. "Then the three of us can discuss options. Sig is more in touch with the situation in Haven right now than either of us are, and we can't make an intelligent decision without him."

Torn grunted in frustration. He felt helpless here, just talking with the king while things happened in Haven that would decide the fate of the _entire world_.

 _I should be in Haven. I should be there._

"Torn. I know you want to be there now," Damas said quietly. "But listen to me: sometimes you face your enemy head on, and sometimes... you wait until his weakness is revealed. We must think before we act."

The commander sighed.

"I know you're right," he said. "But there's so much shit to handle right now. Besides the obvious threat of Praxis finding the Stone and the metalheads attacking Haven, there's this group out in the desert. Could Praxis have sent them? I don't think he knows about Spargus."

Damas stilled.

"That is...true. Either he knows about the city, or someone else does, someone who wants the Stone. That does not bode well."

"It couldn't have been the Underground or the Shadow, because I _know_ they don't know about Spargus," Torn said, thinking aloud. "But who else besides Praxis would have that kind of top-level information? Someone on the Council, maybe? Maybe one of them is looking to outmaneuver the Baron?"

Damas scoffed. "I know all about being outmaneuvered by the Council."

"Who else do we know who's been in the Waste...land..." Torn trailed off, suddenly remembering something.

 _Two years ago_

 _"Final casualty counts are in from the latest Metal Head attack in Dead Town," Ashelin said, laying a piece of paper down on Torn's desk. "34 guardsmen lost."_

 _"Damn. All one unit?"_

 _"Yes. That unit will probably be disbanded at this point, given that less than half of it is left."_

 _"I even feel sorry for the KG up against those bastards," Torn said. "What the hell are we gonna do, Ashe?"_

 _"Don't feel too sorry," a voice rumbled from the other side of the room. It was Kor, sitting down with the kid, a tiny toddler, in his lap. "These metalheads aren't even the most dangerous Haven could be fighting. During my travels in the Deep Wasteland, I saw some of the bigger ones. Awesome creatures."_

"But why would he be looking for the Stone?"

"Who?"

"There's this old man, Kor, who says he's traveled the Deep Wasteland...we don't know that much about him. He has a lot of information on the Metal Heads though, and he's high-ranking with the Underground."

"High-ranking? As a Metal Head expert or...?"

"Well, he's old and feeble now, we don't send him on missions or anything. Mostly he watches...he watches the Kid..." Torn trailed off, seeing Damas shoot to his feet.

"What 'kid'?"

Torn looked at Damas, at the amulet around his neck, at Damas again.

"Oh my god. Fuck. _Fuck_."

Anyone who thought that Damas had passed his prime as a warrior would have reconsidered in that moment. He was across the room before Torn's mind could even move fast enough to realize he should probably put some distance between them.

Now it was too late, and there was a knife at his throat. Behind the knife, Damas' face was murderous.

" _Where. Is. He?_ "


	9. Chapter 8

_Note: I'm back, and I'm so sorry for taking so long to update. This year has been awful. I've suffered a lot of loss. So I've been trying to keep my head above water, but I finally got myself motivated to sit down and finish this chapter! I hope it was worth the wait._

* * *

 _Haven_

"You're saying there's a city out in the desert."

"Yes."

"Run by the former king of our city."

"Yes."

"And you just...what, didn't think that was important? He's the kid's father!" Tess said, putting all her effort into not jumping across the table and going for Ashelin's throat. Jak and Jethra, on either side of her, were sitting straight-backed and stiff in their chairs. Daxter was quieter than normal, sitting on Jak's shoulder and watching the exchange.

"He's the rightful ruler of this city," Jethra said quietly, looking Ashelin dead in the eye.

"Fuck you," Ashelin spat back immediately. "How can you say that? My father is trying to save this city from the metal heads."

"Oh, will you shut up with that?" Tess yelled. "Just stop it. Stop the excuses! You're smarter than that, goddamnit!"

"I'm smart enough to know that he's doing more against the metal heads than anyone has _ever done_ ," Ashelin growled through gritted teeth.

Tess threw her hands up. Finally, Jak spoke.

"Why are you even here if all you're going to do is defend the man we're trying to overthrow?"

All eyes turned to him. He kept his gaze squarely on Ashelin.

"At the heart of it, you know that's what the Underground was meant to do, Ashelin. You can't play both sides forever. You need to get all in or all out."

When the Shadow came into the room, he found a stony silence and a staredown between Jak and Ashelin. He sighed and shook his head.

"Tess. Jak. I need to discuss something with you. Come with me."

They got to their feet and followed silently, leaving an uncomfortable Jethra and a seething Ashelin in the room together.

"I heard you all talking," the Shadow said, once they were out of Ashelin's earshot. "About the boy and the fact that his father is apparently still alive."

"We have to give him back," Jak said, exchanging a look with Daxter. "If he's really out there-"

"If he really is out there, and we have nothing other than Ashelin's word to say that he is," the Shadow interrupted, "he's shown no interest in Haven, or in finding the boy, since his exile."

"How do we know that, though?" Tess asked. "We haven't been looking for evidence of him having a presence in the city. With everything going on, Shadow, it wouldn't be impossible for him to have agents here we don't know about."

The Shadow made a frustrated noise. "Perhaps. Still, the boy is the only rightful heir to the city, and time is growing short."

"Whadya mean, old man?" Daxter asked.

"I mean that the Baron is getting closer to finding the Precursor Stone, and we need to stop him. Jak, you need to find the Tomb of Mar-we know the Stone is there. We need to move, and we need the boy."

"Need him for what?" Daxter asked. "He's barely as tall as I am! What do you think he's gonna do?"

"If you would be quiet and listen, I could tell you," the Shadow grumbled. "The boy isn't just Damas' heir; he's the heir to the throne of Mar. He's the only one who can open the tomb and get the Stone."

"He's so young," Tess said. "What if it's dangerous? Does he have to go in alone?"

"That is...unclear," the Shadow replied. "I'm not entirely sure what is involved. We need to go to Onin first, as she can tell us how to actually unlock the tomb. Once that's accomplished, Jak, the rat and I are going to go with the boy to the tomb's entrance. Tess, you stay here and run things on this end until we get back."

"Alright," she said. "Be careful. And take care of the kid, OK, Jak?"

"I will."

* * *

The trip Onin's was surprisingly uneventful, with Daxter's keen eyes and Jak's quick maneuvering managing to keep them at a safe distance from any KG.

Jak was worried. About the kid, about Torn, about the Precursor Stone, about Ashelin's loyalties, about the metal heads.

He'd saved the world once before, but it was so much simpler then. Brighter. Fewer shades of grey. And a lot less violence and politics.

Was Torn alive? He wanted to believe there was a chance that he'd see him again, but the chances were so slim...

"Hey," Daxter said, lightly rapping on the top of his head. "You in there?"

"Yes, Dax," Jak grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Just thinking about everything."

"I know whatcha mean, Jak. The hits just keep coming, don't they? And now we're expecting this kid to perform some kinda miracle...I don't know about this."

"I'm with you. I don't think sending the kid to do...whatever the Shadow thinks he's going to do...is a good idea."

"We have to keep the kid outta trouble," Daxter said, uncharacteristically solemn. Jak nodded in agreement.

They were coming up on Onin's hut, and they could hear Kor saying something. Something about the kid.

"Expecting that little boy to save us is folly! At his age, he is no match for the Metal Head leader," Kor turned, hearing Jak's footsteps. "Oh... Jak. We were just talking about Samos' plan."

"Onin says your voice sounds veeeery familiar," Pecker interjected, making Kor's eyes widen just enough to catch Jak and Daxter's attention. They glanced at each other, but filed the moment away for later as Pecker announced that Onin had one final test before they could get the seal and unlock the tomb.

Once Jak had finished the test-he did, in fact have some smarts in his thick skull, thank you very much-Onin revealed the last piece of the seal of Mar.

"Onin says the three artifacts you retrieved from the mountain temple are relics from an ancient light tower. Old legends tell how this light tower once shine down on the actual site of Mar's Tomb!"

Unfortunately this was followed by Pecker singing, which was about as pleasant to listen to as metal head claws screeching on stone.

"Woah, there, Iron Lungs," Jak interrupted, just barely managing not to put his hands over his ears. "Just tell us what we need to do."

Pecker's indignation aside, the task seemed simple enough, Jak and Daxter mused, as they walked out of the tent.

"Take artifacts to Mar's Gate, reveal Tomb of Mar, enter Tomb, get Stone, save world," Jak said. "No big deal. Right?"

Daxter narrowed his eyes at his partner.

"I feel like every time we think something's gonna be simple, it blows up in our faces. Jak, I swear ta God, if you just jinxed this for us..."

Jak snorted. "Dax, if you think I have that much power over fate, then you haven't been paying attention the last few years."

Daxter's face fell, and Jak mentally cringed. This was why he'd never talked before, in Sandover. It kept him from putting his foot in his mouth.

He sighed. "Let's just...figure this out, so we can get the Stone, and then decide what we're gonna do with it, hey, Dax?"

"Yep. Sounds good, buddy," Daxter replied, putting on a forced smile.

* * *

Blowing up the giant statue of the Baron was an unintended side effect of raising the light tower, but Jak couldn't say he regretted it. Even if it would probably draw some extra unwanted attention, since the Underground would be suspect number one.

On the way to the Tomb, where Kor, the Shadow and the Kid were to meet them, Daxter was unusually quiet. Finally, he seemed to decide something and straightened himself up a bit on Jak 's shoulder.

"Jak? I know we don't do this...not really...but do you want to talk about anything? I mean prison...or Torn, even though the idea of you knocking boots with him freaks me out...or that whole dark-and-scary routine you've got going on now...or Sandover...I mean, you know we can talk about it, right?"

Jak glanced up at him, startled. "I...yeah, Dax. Maybe one of these days, when everything's not so crazy...and you can tell me about the two years I was in prison, because you've never told me what happened to you, where you were." Daxter suddenly looked stricken, and Jak struggled to save the conversation. "No! That's not what I meant, I didn't mean you took too long to save me, or anything! I just, I don't know how you even survived during that time, what you had to do to save me, and, and all that. It...it must have been hard for you, too, Dax."

The ottsel looked like he might cry, but he swallowed it down.

"Hard? For me? Jak, you know I'm the hero here, right? It was easy-peasy." Both of them ignored the fact that Daxter's voice was trembling.

"Of course, Dax, don't know what I was thinking. What could be tough for Orange Lightning?"

"You're damn right!" Daxter said, regaining some of his typical bravado. "And look, we're almost there. We gotta knock out this Precursor Stone business, buddy. Save the world. Just like old times, right?"

"Yep, like old times," Jak said with a small smile. He immediately sobered though, seeing the Kid standing in front of the massive door to Mar's Tomb. The boy looked so small and fragile, standing there, fidgeting nervously. Jak didn't know if he could let Samos and Kor go through with this.

As soon as he got near the Kid, the little boy reached up to take his hand, big blue eyes watery with terror. Jak held the tiny hand in his and squeezed, feeling his chest tighten. The Shadow was going on and on about how he was amazed that Jak had found the Tomb, but all Jak could focus on was that he was about to send this _baby_ into a death trap.

"Great! Now what?! We send this poor kid into a meat grinder?!" he shouted, interrupting the Shadow's praise.

The man looked irritated, not troubled, which raised Jak's hackles even more. They watched nervously as the door to the tomb went up and a voice began speaking about the heir of Mar.

"No. This child is too young to face the tests." The voice said, and the door began to descend.

"Jak! Do something!"

So Jak did. He went into the tomb himself, taking Daxter with him, feeling nothing but relief that he could face the trials himself and spare the Kid.

He and Daxter laid on the ground for a moment after the door closed with a loud clang, breathing hard.

"Jak."

"Yeah, Dax?"

"Ain't these trials only supposed to be completed by the Heir of Mar? Alone?"

"...uh, yeah."

"And I ain't the heir of Mar. And neither are you."

"...no..."

"So how in the hell are we gonna survive this?" Daxter was shouting by the end of the sentence.

Not for the first time, Jak felt like a heel for dragging Daxter into danger. At the same time, he'd at least had a good reason this time-they needed the Precursor Stone, and the kid couldn't get it, _because he's a fucking child_ , Jak thought, sourly.

"We'll figure it out, Dax. We've done some crazy things before, right?" He glanced over to his best friend pleadingly. _What else could I have done_?

Daxter sighed. "Fine, but I'm complaining the whole way. Loudly." Jak heard what he didn't say: _You're forgiven._

* * *

As it turned out, they _did_ survive the trials, much to Jak's surprise (unvoiced) and Daxter's (loudly voiced.) Then a disembodied voice started talking about Mar, and the Precursor Stone, and destiny.

And then the Baron showed up, and took the Stone.

Jak seethed as he sped toward the Underground on a stolen zoomer, Daxter holding on to his shoulder for dear life. Couldn't one thing be simple in this goddamn city? Go the way it was fucking supposed to?

He passed through alleys and byways that he hadn't known before Torn was exiled. He'd sat down with the man's beloved maps and learned how to get around without being noticed. Like it was a way to honor his lover's memory by absorbing the knowledge that he'd had. And he'd wanted to take some responsibility for keeping the Underground alive; to learn to be a real agent, not a bull in a china shop deployed for brute force missions.

But it didn't _mean_ anything. The Baron had the Stone, had known about their plans and followed them right to it. And now he was going to use it. To do what? Jak didn't fucking know and neither did the Underground, because Ashelin was too busy being torn between her father and the greater good to give them the intel they so desperately needed.

" _This wouldn't have happened if you were here, Torn. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ " he thought to himself. It was a wonder he hadn't crashed the damned zoomer by now, but it was a testament to how hard he'd worked to learn to navigate the city.

He slammed on the brakes, stopping abruptly in a shadowy alley next to a fire escape.

"Jak? Buddy? You in there?"

Jak opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He felt like he couldn't _breathe_.

"Jak, you're shaking," Daxter said, gentle and wary at the same time.

 _He thinks I'm going to transform_ , Jak thought to himself, and felt bile rise up in his throat. He opened his mouth again, but what came out wasn't a roar-it was a hoarse, choked noise that he had never heard himself make. But once he started, he couldn't stop.

"Jak," Daxter whispered. "Jak, don't-it's OK, don't cry, we're gonna-we're gonna fix this, it's alright..."

The blonde shook his head helplessly, shoulders shaking, aching from head to foot with hopelessness, grief, frustration, pain...more emotions than he thought he'd ever felt at once. Ever since that first Dark Eco injection, anyway, when he was strapped to the chair thinking _whywhywhy_.

Daxter steadily soothed him for a long time. Or it felt like a long time; he wasn't sure how much time it took for him to calm down. When his sobs finally slowed and he was able to wipe his face off without new tears wetting it again, he lifted his head.

"Sorry, Dax, I just..." His throat felt raw. _He_ felt raw.

"Don't worry about it, buddy. Let's get back though, yeah? It's starting to get a little chilly out here, even though I got this fur coat."

Jak nodded. "Yeah. Um. Thanks." Then he started up the zoomer again, before Daxter could say anything about it being no problem. The rest of the trip back went quickly and without incident, to the relief of both passengers.

Tess met them at the bottom of the stairs, looking relieved. At first. Then her face fell.

"You don't have the Stone. You don't have the Kid. You don't have the _Shadow_."

"The Baron has them," Jak said, unwilling to delay delivery of the bad news. "He knew about our plans to get the Stone. Followed us right to it. The guardian of the tomb said the Kid was too young to face the trials, so I went in and did them, and fought the Baron, but he got away. And the KG captured our people."

Tess looked at him for a long moment, then abruptly turned and walked to Torn's desk- _her desk_ , Jak corrected himself. She collapsed into the chair behind it and stared at the wood for a long moment. Daxter hopped down from Jak's shoulder and walked over, cautiously hopping up on the desk to try and make eye contact.

"Tess, babe. We're sorry. We don't know how he knew about...everything. We didn't...we didn't want this Tessy, we're sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," she said softly. She took a deep breath and put her hands on the desk, steadying herself.

"So. Somebody told the Baron about our plans to get the Precursor Stone. He now has it, and is planning to use it; for what exact purpose we don't know. The head of the Underground and the heir to the city have been kidnapped by enemy forces. That's where we are. Right?"

Jak swallowed. "Right."

"I need to-think. To plan. Figure out what to do first. I'll talk to Jethra; she and I will get something together. Jak, get some rest. You've had a long day."

"I-alright." Jak was a little unsettled by the fact that she hadn't chewed him out, or even raised her voice. But he was too wrung out himself to confront her or to offer any comfort, so he headed for the bunks.

"Jak. Wait." He turned to see Tess looking at him for the first time since she'd sat down.

"Don't blame yourself. I know you did everything you could, OK?"

He felt fresh tears come into his eyes. His throat closed up. All he could do was nod.

"Get some rest," she said again, still fixing him with that steady gaze.

As he turned and headed away, he heard her call for Jethra in a firm, unwavering voice, and his lips twitched.

 _Torn would be proud._


End file.
